


Serenity

by heartstone



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21549064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstone/pseuds/heartstone
Summary: It was not difficult to find the eye of the storm, the center of the swirling mess of scribbled parchment and annotated maps of Eregion. It seemed Tyelpë had fallen asleep in his fervor, and he now sat curled up in the armchair, his head resting against the upholstered wingback and his face still smudged with ink and charcoal.***Annatar teases Tyelpë.
Relationships: Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Serenity

The polished herringbone gleamed with flickers of jasper light, muted only by the rug and its pattern of wild strawberries and pinecones. The fireplace crackled, sending off a fine shower of sparks from one of the sunken logs that was embraced by the ephemeral curtain of pale yellow fire, antithesis to the downpour of argent that streamed from grey-blue clouds and their pitter-patter on the panes of glass. The heavy tapestries that hung from the stone walls made the room feel cocooned in a blanket of woodland scenes, of rivers borne from the mountains and of deer leaping over the flora of the forest. Many candelabras were lit, and they transmuted their warmth through the chill, defeating the cold that threatened to disturb the peaceful security of the room from the windows.

But despite the sense of comfort that absorbed him, Annatar could not help but find _some_ annoyance at the mess that was strewn about the room, even if this annoyance was somehow pleasant and warm. Various mechanical trinkets, jars, and maps littered the oak mantel that framed the fireplace, the loose papers weighed down sloppily by the silver candlesticks cradling low-burning beeswax. Books of various conditions with worn and frayed spines or gilded covers littered the floor along with loose sheaves of paper and scrolls, some of which made it onto the table between the two armchairs that faced the welcoming glow of the hearth. Quills and inks lay half-forgotten along with charcoal pencils, rulers, and compasses. Annatar shook his head, but a small smile played on his lips that was hardly noticeable under the shifting glow of firelight.

It was not difficult to find the eye of the storm, the center of the swirling mess of scribbled parchment and annotated maps of Eregion. It seemed Tyelpë had fallen asleep in his fervor, and he now sat curled up in the armchair, his head resting against the upholstered wingback and his face still smudged with ink and charcoal. In his hands he held a rather large leather journal that Annatar recognized as his sketchbook, and he curled around it as if protective of the infant ideas that he had tentatively made tangible. His soft breathing could be heard faintly over the snap of wood and the rhythm of rain as he approached the elf, careful not to step on the clutter that was sure to be his next genius. The Maia looked over him for signs of exhaustion, noting his dark furrowed brow and the slight twitching of his lips with some thought that intruded on the veil of his sleep- perhaps he had met with some obstacle in his designs.

Carefully he bent down over his slumbering form and pressed a kiss to the crease of his brow, soothing it with a firmness that chased away Tyelpë’s unconscious troubles. The slight twitching of his lips stopped, smoothing into a gentle smile that deepened at the curl of the corner of his lips. A budding warmth submerged Annatar- as if folded into amber, as if in a dawn that broke into a golden haze that enclosed him and slowed time until only this single moment of complete _peace_ was left to fill his senses. Annatar let it wash over him as sweet and slow as honey, his own lips still brushing tenderly against the elf’s temple to the crown of his tangled hair where the Maia’s kisses fell like droplets of warm summer dew.

Tyelpë’s eyes were of silver and crystal, and hues of muted heather with the blue of forget-me-nots shimmered around his pupils like the glistening of water under a layer of glossy ice. A sleep-misted haze peered from dark lashes, drifting to rest on the Maia who pulled back as if unwilling, pausing momentarily as if amused with his tousled hair and the smudge of charcoal along the crest of his cheekbone. The elf flushed at the rare expression of mirth on Annatar’s usually unreadable features: that fondness was for _him,_ and the serenity of this unspoken but ever-present intimacy kindled him aglow with its heady warmth. Annatar chuckled breathlessly, a halitus that drifted from his lips as the most beloved of Tyelpë’s songs. The Maia bent over him again, kissing his parted lips and wiping away the charcoal from his rose-stained cheek.

“Such a pleased look for one who will be spending the better part of the night tidying a mess,” Annatar remarked solemnly, kissing the corner of Tyelpë’s lips to hide his own broad smile.

Tyelpë placed his sketchbook onto the table with the other papers as if to goad the Maia by making even more of a mess. He reached up, pulling Annatar down to sit across his lap, legs hanging off the side of one of the chair’s arms as he wrapped his own about the Maia and kissed him fully, deep and insistent enough to lure a moan from their throats. Annatar’s lips were always warm, almost _too_ warm, and their caress always left his own swollen and stained the pink of mature amaranth; and when they left his own a coldness from their absence would prickle him.

Annatar pulled back and Celebrimbor’s lips trembled with their loss.

“It is a shame,” the Maia said, pouting, “There is no time for leisure when there is so much work to—”

Tyelpë laughed, delighted at what could only be described as a surprised _squeak_ that he had startled from Annatar as he abruptly stood up, lifting the Maia into his arms and carrying him to the bed across the room. He squirmed playfully in his arms before he was dropped onto the nest of cushions and blankets and furs that, Annatar noted, were unmade on the bed. Tyelpë leaned over, nibbling the soft skin of his neck that was exposed at the collar, but Annatar folded his arms petulantly, despite the grin that tugged maddeningly at his lips that ruined his grim sulk.

Celebrimbor laughed, bold and genuine, eyes twinkling like stars at the Maia’s poor attempt.

“How about this, you dour creature,” he proposed, getting off of the bed to remove the ties that kept the canopy of evergreen curtains from enclosing the four posts that were carved to look like the twisting branches of a tree. The heavy, warm fabric enclosed them, patterned with ivy, and it blocked any sight of the disorder about the fireplace. Tyelpë turned back triumphantly, his lopsided grin charming and his eyes making up for the warm glow of the hearth that was now hidden from view. He crawled back onto the tangled bedding, kissing and biting one of Annatar’s sensitive pulse points.

“Now you don’t know if the room is clean or not,” he murmured against the Maia’s silken skin before lavishing it once more with his attentions.

_‘Absurd,’_ the Maia thought, giggling as if inebriated from the contentment and warmth that filled the room, and the affection of Tyelpë’s kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> They're so cute (*o*)! I just can't help myself in writing such sickeningly sweet stuff sometimes! Also I don't know why I always get cozy fireplace-crackling-while-raining vibes when writing about them :3  
I hope you enjoyed because I really should have been doing schoolwork instead of writing :'D  
***


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